The Clown Car Conundrum
by Gnomepants
Summary: When investigating a strange case in the small town of Wayfield, Sam and Dean encounter far more food/motel/gas station chains and rampant dents in the impala than they bargained for. Starring Sam as the hostage, Dean as the car whisperer, Cas as the useless third wheel, Bobby as the common sense, and the impala as the car that drives around a lot. Set during season 5
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One of Many

**Cape Cod, Massachusetts**

The shiny black impala, shimmering in the early morning sunlight with dew from the night before, was the only car on the forested New England road. Its engine purred mischievously as it cruised along. The driver of the car rolled down his window and steadily stepped on the accelerator, increasing the volume of the radio as he did so. The passenger, who had been sleeping, groaned at the sudden loud noise. He tried, by turning away, to use his body as a shield against the pounding music, but he was too big and was choked by the seat belt. The passenger squirmed around for a few more seconds before reaching for the eject button. The driver tried to slap his hand away, but the other man already had the cassette in his hands and, with a gesture, threatened to throw it out of his window. At this, the driver simply looked offended.

"Come on, Sammy, it's classic. You don't want to do anything drastic here," he pleaded as the man on the passenger side glared at him, dangling the tape dangerously out the window. The impala swerved slightly, almost in laughter.

"Be careful, Dean! I won't throw away the tape, okay? Just don't run us off the road." Sam shook his head and stuffed the tape safely in his pant's pocket. A man on the radio, which had come on sometime during the hostage situation, finished up an advertisement for 'all natural dog food' and announced his station's morning playlist in a voice that was a little bit too enthusiastic.

"Now to start up our Way-Back Weekend, here's a good one by Morrissey: _Everyday Is Like Sunday."_

Dean, trying to change the topic to something safer, asked about the case. "So, what do you think this thing is?" He said as he repeatedly pushed the button to turn off the radio, but it stubbornly stayed on. Dean then tried and failed to at least turn the volume down. "Damn radio. Sam, you broke it when you touched it."

"It's your fault for blasting the music so loud all the time." The taller, moose-like man scoffed and pulled out a crumpled article about the sudden deaths of several teens in the small town of Wayfield, Massachusetts. He examined the details of the deaths, though he had already done so several times before, and still could not come up with any plausible ideas as to what it was that caused it.

Sam had to raise his voice to be heard over the music as he read out loud, "four days ago a bunch of hooligans were found in the woods not far from the train station, they had all their teeth missing and exactly 32 quarters in their place. One for each tooth. Says here there are no other injuries, internal or otherwise."

"So, what? You think the _Tooth Fairy_ killed them? Brother, even I know that's crazy." Dean rolled his eyes and turned his head to look at his younger brother, when suddenly Sam let out a girlish scream. The car collided with something with an incredible force, Dean had just enough time to see that it was bright and colorful before he slammed his foot on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt on the shoulder of the road.

"Son of a bitch! Did we hit a deer?" Dean exclaimed, he looked at Sam but he gave no sign of answering. "Sam? You okay?"

"I saw - I mean, I thought I saw…" he trailed off, his voice shaky.

"What? Spit it out. What did you see?" Dean unbuckled his seat belt and moved to open the door.

"Never mind, It was probably just a deer," Sam recomposed himself, "I was just seeing things from lack of sleep, but I think we should check it out anyway." Sam released his own seat belt and stumbled out of the passenger side, following Dean to check on the impala.

"Well, we must've hit something. There's no way that was any pothole. Better not have dented my baby."

" I don't know, Dean. There's nothing on the road-"

"Look at this!" Dean yelled at the massive dent in the car's bumper, interrupting Sam. Dean went to pull out his gun, but Sam stopped him.

"What are you doing? You can't shoot a deer! Anyway, looks like he got away." Sam scolded his brother, then mumbled quietly to himself, "lucky for him."

"Don't be such a hippie, Sam. That deer would have had it comin' to him." Dean, having heard Sam's comment, waved his gun around as a clear threat to future and current deer everywhere. Sam shook his head, thinking his older brother was a hopeless case, and got back into the car. Dean stayed outside shouting in rage at the damage done to his car to no one in particular.

"Come on, car freak. Lets get going, the car won't drive itself." Sam said. After Dean gave no sign of moving, he added optimistically, "she's had worse, you can fix her up easily when we get there." Dean stood outside rooted to the spot, glaring into the surrounding pine trees.

Sam tried again to gently coax Dean into the impala, "Maybe we can get pie when we get to Wayfield."

"Fine," Dean grumbled miserably and got back behind the wheel, slamming the door. The radio announcer, in his upbeat tone, chattered on. Dean started to drive down the road wanting more than anything to just get to the motel already.

"Welcome back to our Way-Back Weekend! All your favorite 80s and 90s music played all weekend, every weekend. If you liked that song you will love what is coming up, we got some Asia and Kansas on the way. So don't turn that dial! And now, a quick word from our sponsors." At that announcement another dog food commercial came on advertising 'real meat in its kibble' and how it was 'perfect for dogs who like to hunt'.

"I wish the damn radio would just turn off." Dean murmured and thought longingly of the cassette still hidden in Sam's pocket. Sam, guessing Dean's trail of thought, moved further away from Dean in his seat.

"No way am I giving this back. Forget it." Sam said firmly. The advertisement came to an end only for ANOTHER dog food company to start selling its product.

"Bitch." Dean seemed on the verge of jumping out of the moving impala as the announcer advertised that this dog food was 'fit for a hell hound' and played a series of ferocious barks and howls that sent a shiver down Dean's spine.

"Uh… Does that radio announcer sound familiar to you?" Sam frowned at the radio, scratching his head as he pondered the familiar voice , which went on about dog food for the fifth time.

"Nope." Dean said dismissively. "What's with all the dog food ads?"

"No clue."

The impala settled into an uncomfortable silence. Even the radio had stopped momentarily, as if it were listening for something more. When nothing interesting happened, it lapsed into static.

They drove on in silence. Dean was too aggravated to put in another cassette from his collection, while Sam stared out the window at the green blur of passing trees, silently happy that the radio had stopped working before the station had a chance to play _Heat of the Moment,_ or some other horror. With nothing else to do, he started counting mile markers. He had counted twelve before they reached a sign that read:

_Welcome to Wayfield_

_Home of the first bakery_

_Please keep our coastal town clean!_

"We need to stop for gas before settling in," Dean announced loudly, startling Sam out of his daydream, "and for some pie."

"Home of the first bakery," Sam quoted the sign, "I wonder if they have credentials to prove that?"

" Who cares? A bakery's a bakery." Dean sighed, "I love this town already." Dean smiled and pulled into Quick-Gaz-Cheap, which was the first gas station they had come across. Next to it was a Dunkin' Donuts, making Sam think longingly of a nice cup of hot coffee and some Wi-Fi. He wondered jokingly if he could get the donut shop's free Wi-Fi from where he was. Dean got out of the car, looking reproachfully again at the obscene dent in the impala's bumper, and started toward the gas pump. He stopped upon seeing the piece of paper taped to the pump that read: Pay Cash Inside.

"Sammy, you want anything from the store?" Dean said, but the Sam hadn't heard him, clearly too absorbed in his Dunkin' Donuts coffee and Wi-Fi fantasy. Dean racked his knuckles on the partially rolled down window to get his brother's attention.

"What?"

"Do you want anything from the store?" Dean repeated, pointing at the sign on the pump, he added, "they make you pay inside… and I want to see if they have any pie."

"No thanks... Wait a second, you're going to buy pie _from a convenience store_ when the welcome sign to this town screams, 'we have awesome bakeries! Come, eat our baked goods!'" Sam shook his head in disbelief.

"Gas station food is cheap and delicious. It's the best of both worlds, Sammy." He was about to walk away when he turned back and said, "I ain't gonna miss out on those bakery pies either. We're definitely getting some later."

Sam laughed. "Hurry up and get gas then. We can go to the bakery after solving this case." Dean snorted at that remark, like Sam could actually keep him away from the pie until after they had hunted whatever it was that killed those kids.

Dean strutted up to the store, ignoring the fact that two people who just exited the store in front of him had stopped talking suddenly in the middle of their conversation and stared at the Impala's blatant damage. Dean glared at them as he walked past and went into the store; bells rang mockingly as he opened the door. He emerged a few minutes later holding a plastic bag. He went to Sam's side of the car and tossed him a couple of granola bars, even though he hadn't asked for them. Dean knew Sam liked to eat healthily and shivered at the mere idea of living without his precious junk food. He then proceeded to fill his baby up with gas while whispering tenderly to it.

"Shh. I won't let another big bad deer hurt you ever again. Everything will we better soon, I promise." He cooed, lovingly patting the roof of the car.

"Dean, you better not be talking to the impala again." Sam sighed then turned around to check the back seat for his jacket, the weather was colder than he expected, although it was the middle of Summer. His expression went from confused to horrified as he gasped. Frantically, Sam undid his seat belt and flailed out of the car. He cautiously looked in the back window, but there was no mistaking it, a clown wig of the rainbow variety and a large red nose that suspiciously looked like it would honk when squeezed were sitting comfortably on the seat.

"What's going on with you?" Dean tilted his head at his brother, questioning his strange behavior.

"Did you put those stupid clown props in the back seat?" Sam demanded, pointing at the back of the car. Dean finished up filling the impala and peaked into the backseat.

"What props? I don't see anything." Dean gave Sam a concerned look.

"Stop messing with me, it's right the-," Sam turned to look back inside, but the props had disappeared. "Oh."

"You're losing it, man. All those vegetables are ruining your eyesight, especially the carrots. You need some good old artificial sugar. Want some pie? I got two." Dean placed the bag on the roof of the car.

"No, Dean. I just need some sleep. By the way, carrots don't _ruin_ your eyesight." Sam snapped, annoyed at his brother's joking manner.

"Alright, don't throw a tantrum. Why don't we check into a motel? I'll go out and try to figure out what this thing is while you get some sleep." Dean held up his free hand in surrender and moved his precious pies to the safety of the backseat. With the smell of gas lingering in the car, they got in, Dean went slightly over the speed limit as he drove off in the direction of a motel like a man on an important mission.

The motel's name was The Lazy Lobster Motel. It bragged of 'a good view of the water' and had the motto 'Quick-Zzs-Cheap'. It was rather doubtful there was any view out of the low windows other than the parking lot. With that motto, Sam wondered if it was owned by the same person that owned the gas station. The neon 'Vacancy Open' sign shone a faded red, and the letter 'y' sparked every few minutes as it blinked on and off. Dean slowed as he pulled into the parking lot and smoothly fit the impala into a space located near the front doors of the motel.

"Don't you think it's a little empty here for the tourist season on the coast?" Sam commented looking around and counting only three cars. One being the impala and the other two most likely belonging to employees.

"Tourists don't usually stay in ratty old motels. Anyway, at least you won't have to worry about loud neighbors, not to mention nosy ones. Come on, let's check in." Dean opened the glove department and picked out one of his credit cards, looking at it to make sure it wasn't one that had already been maxed out. The name on the platinum card read _Emmett Brown._ He fished around the car for his _Emmett Brown_ ID, finding it in with his cassettes.

"How do you keep track of anything?" Sam grumbled as he got out of the car and stretched his incredibly long and stiff limbs.

"Don't patronize me, Mr. Daddy Long Legs. I have a system in place here," Dean retorted as he exited the car, stretching his shorter arms and cracking his neck. The brothers walked into the unimpressive lobby of The Lazy Lobster and sauntered over to the desk.

The man at the desk sat back in his chair, facing away from the counter, he leaned back with his feet up on a table that held a TV connected to the security cameras. He happened to be reading an issue of Dog Fancy magazine. The boys waited expectantly at the desk, but he didn't notice them even though they were clearly shown on the TV screen in front of him. Finally, Sam cleared his throat loudly to get his attention. The man turned around, and on his face was the most fake looking ginger mustache in existence. He looked irritated at having been interrupted. His name tag was engraved with the words: _Greg Finnegan. Manager._

"How can I help you?" he asked unenthusiastically. He took one look at Sam and Dean and smiled derisively.

"Don't you own the gas station two blocks back?" Dean questioned, "'cause if you do, you got here pretty fast."

"Nah, you got me confused with my brother. We're twins. He's my biggest competitor."

"Really? A gas station is your biggest competitor?" Sam laughed, assuming Finnegan was joking.

"You got something' to say, boyo?" Finnegan gave a disapproving look at Sam's height. " I don't give rooms to tall rude meeses."

"Uh, sorry about my little brother. He's cranky," Dean said quickly, subtly stepping on Sam's foot.

"He ain't little." The manager scoffed. "How many?"

"Got anything with two beds?" Dean said, trying not to be rude.

"'Fraid we only have rooms with three beds."

"Well, it'll work," Dean said, handing the manager 'his' credit card. Finnegan swiped the card and ran the numbers.

"Yah got room 666. It's down the hall to the left." The manager returned the credit card and reached under the desk so far that he was almost completely concealed by it. He cursed loudly as he stood up and banged his head on the counter. Finnegan gave them the keys to their room, rubbing the sore bald spot at the back of his head. And almost like an after thought he added, "If you're in town about the bakery, I know a good one. It ain't the first bakery the town's famous for, but it's called Quick-Piez-Cheap," Finnegan smiled with his suspiciously fake-looking mustache "I would highly recommend it."

Dean looked at Sam and shrugged, then they made their way down the hall toward the room. Finnegan, pretending to have continued reading his magazine, watched them closely as they went.

Everything from the wallpaper to the curtains was lobster themed in the room, even the headboards of the beds had lobster carvings. It made Dean crave an all you can eat lobster dinner. Sam scowled at the little lobster bobble heads strewn around the room. One was placed haphazardly on every table.

"What gift shop barfed on this room? How does anyone sleep in here with all these little beady eyes staring at you?" Sam's scowl deepened.

"At least they're not clowns, right?" Dean suppressed his laughter by clearing his throat.

"Don't even joke about that. This is serious, we should be tracking down that murdering tooth thief. "

"You mean, I should be tracking down this Tooth Fairy bastard. You should be getting some shut-eye. Want me to tuck you in, Sammy? Tell you a story?"

"You can take your story and shove it up your -"

"Alright, alright! But I'm going and taking these pies with me. No pie for you." Dean said indignantly. He could see how tired Sam was and his expression softened into a brotherly smile. "Just get some sleep. I'm really worried about you."

"I will," Sam said reassuringly, adding as Dean opened the door, "be careful."

"Who do you think you're talking to? I'm always careful." He winked at his younger brother as he closed the door, locking it behind him.

Sam let himself fall back on one of the beds and sighed heavily. He glanced up at the clock and wrinkled his nose in disgust. A large, cartoony lobster was splattered on the clock face. He lay back on the lobster patterned sheets, and without even realizing it, fell into a light sleep.

* * *

It could have been hours later, or minutes, Sam couldn't tell. He was sleeping peacefully, sprawled out on the bed with his legs hanging over the side, when he was abruptly woken up by the blaring sound of someone's car from the parking lot.

_We should have asked for a room on the rear side of the building,_ Sam thought irritably, then he realized that the incessant honking sounded very familiar, and his mind immediately drifted to the impala. He looked around the room quickly, _but Dean isn't back yet._ He checked the time and saw that only fifteen minutes had passed since Dean had left. _Was Dean the one honking the impala?_ If so, Sam had a few things to say to him, a few strongly worded things.

Sam leapt from the bed, suddenly energized by anger with his brother. He grabbed his room key and, taking one last distasteful look around the room, he left, ruffled hair and all, slamming the door behind him without bothering to lock it. He stomped down the hallway, fuming. He was ready even to throw some snarky remarks at that motel manager if he decided to insult him by calling him 'moosey' again. Instead of finding the manager in the Lobby as he had expected, Finnegan had gone on a lunch break. It was only ten in the morning. Another lobster themed sign said in messy handwriting, 'Out to Lunch. Be Back in 1 hour'. Sam didn't think much of it, other than the fact that Finnegan was a pretty irresponsible manager.

Outside, the car continued to honk in one long drawn out earsplitting note. In a furious run, Sam threw the glass doors to the motel open and went outside, his long stride got him to the car in just three steps. The honking suddenly ceased when he reached the driver's side window. Sam's mouth dropped open. He was surprised to see that there was no one sitting in the impala, and the moosey man completely forget his anger at Dean.

"What is going on?" Sam scanned the parking lot, looking for someone who could be the culprit, possibly a hiding Dean or irresponsible motel manager. However, not a single other person or car was in sight. The parking lot was deserted save for himself and the Impala.

Suddenly the car horn started blaring again, making Sam jump. He bent over to take another look in the car, and noticed that the door was unlocked and the keys were casually flopped on the passenger's seat.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" Sam called, acknowledging that this scene rather resembled some kind of trap or horror film. All the same, Sam opened the door and darted in, determined to find out what had happened to Dean.

Somehow, the radio clicked on, even though the car as off. It was only static for a few moments, but Sam thought he could hear subtle voices. He leaned in, pressing his ear to the speaker when, all of a sudden, it screeched.

"GOOD MORNING VIETNAM! AND GOOD MORNING LOVELIES!" At the noise, Sam recoiled and slapped his hands over his ears. He moved to get out of the car, but some kind of force held him back against the seat as the door slammed itself shut. All the doors in the car locked in cannon.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Click.

"Now! How about we play an oldie but a goodie," the radio went on cheerily, "this is for all you Asia fans out there! You know who you are."

There it was. The song of the devil was playing, no, blasting through the speakers. _Heat of the Moment._ Just as Sam was convincing himself that it was all a nightmare, the engine revved up. He watched in horror as the stick shifted by itself and he tried helplessly to hold it in place. The impala speeded backwards and stopped short of hitting the pole of the Vacancy sign, the momentum of it all flung Sam's large body around in his seat, giving him a serious case of motion sickness.

His only thought at that moment was, _but it's not even tuesday today._

Sam slumped over in his seat, willing himself to refrain from throwing up. Suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulder. A series of high pitched, manic giggles came from the back seat, and the color drained from Sam's face.

_Please don't be clowns_, he prayed frantically, _please please please…_

The impala's engine revved threateningly again, and before Sam had a chance to compose himself, the car surged forward, turning sharply as it sped out of the parking lot and onto Wayfield's main road. Sam was thrown into the back seat by the force of it, and found himself staring into a painted white, red nosed, purple lipped face with a yellow, toothy smile just inches from his own. Sam, who will by all accounts deny this later, screamed like a tiny moose that sings opera music on YouTube.

The impala swerved dangerously as it raced down the road, accelerating at almost 88 miles per hour. Sam couldn't do anything except scream as the clowns grabbed his hair and nose, laughing hysterically. Spittle flew from their mouths, occasionally landing on his terrified face.

They were rapidly approaching an intersection, the traffic light changed from yellow to red, but the impala showed no signs of slowing down. On the contrary, it seemed to be increasing its speed, accelerating happily toward an imminent collision with a slow-moving ice cream truck. An ice cream truck that had, painted on its side, an idiotic lobster with dog ears holding a cone in its claws. Above the silly mascot, in big red letters were the familiar words, Quick-Scoopz-Cheap. Sam's eyes widened in disbelief, and he braced himself for certain death.

Dying by an ice cream truck collision while being choked by clowns was not the way he had imagined going out, although, how could he imagine such a horror?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

**Wayfield, Massachusetts**

Dean sat down in a macabre lobster chair with lumpy cushions, attempting to make himself comfortable so that he could commence with some online research. He was using Sam's laptop without his permission, but had so far only accomplished the act of snooping at his brother's search history. The majority of Sam's recent searches were of their current case, but the occasional baby animal picture, cat video, and salad recipe were present on the list. Dean snickered at this, slightly disappointed that none of these searches were for some _X __rated_ films. He smiled warmly at Sam's goody-two-shoesness.

Upon opening Google, however, Dean lost all motivation for research. He was the one who went out and investigated the old fashioned way by finding clues, hard evidence, and cute girls to flirt with- er, interrogate. He sighed, reclining in the chair, causing it to creak loudly in protest. A plastic bag sat atop the tiny motel refrigerator that leaked liquid on the lobster patterned carpet. He eyed the bag, remembering that there was still one pie left as he had saved it to be eaten later. He found himself craving it now, _all this talk of work makes me hungry._

"Screw it," Dean reached over and snatched the plastic bag from the fridge. He licked his lips greedily as he pulled the pie box out of the bag, his mouth practically watering. He was in the midst of opening the cardboard box that held the delicious slice, when Sam made a noise in his sleep, making Dean look up.

"Meer, Mherg, merh… Clowns, no. Stop it mrrrgh… that's my potato..." Sam whimpered as he twisted around in the middle bed of the three placed side by side. The blankets of each bed had been thrown in a heap on the ground; all but one pillow still remained.

"Sam, wake up! You're freaking out!" Dean tried in vain to wake his brother from where he sat waiting to feast. The pie looked so tempting, it practically asked to be eaten.

"...don't like pancakes at diners… mufh" Sam grunted. Dean had had enough of his noise. He reluctantly stood from the chair with a groan and grabbed the bottle of water he had found in the fridge while searching for beer. Dean stood at the edge of Sam's bed and, quite unnecessarily, emptied the contents of the bottle onto his sleeping brother.

Sam, startled, suddenly jolted up only to hit his head on the slightly slanted lobster headboard. Dean leapt back at his sudden movement, accidentally throwing the pie in the air, but catching it before it could plummet to the ground and ruin his snacking.

"Dean! What did you do?" He looked over at the terribly tacky clock then rushed out the door in a panic, suddenly remembering his dream.

_What has gotten into him? Seeing things, nightmares, stealing my music. Something must be seriously wrong… Nah… _Through the open window, Dean could hear the sound of Sam opening the impala door and getting in, then an incomprehensible scream of what sounded like, 'Good morning… something palm'; Dean couldn't quite make it out. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of the impala's engine revving up.

"Oh, hell no," he said as he grabbed his coat and ran to catch his baby, without realizing that he was still holding his half-opened convenience store pie. He swung the door open and searched the pockets of his coat for the room key. Instead he found his car keys. Coming to the conclusion that his baby had been hot wired by none other than his baby brother, Dean picked up his pace. The idea made him furious. Sam was not allowed to touch the car's delicate parts!

"I already told the biggun, no runnin' in the hallway!" Finnegan yelled as Dean whizzed past him, not caring about motel rules. The manager snorted and went back to reading Dog Fancy Magazine, clearly not devoted enough to stop rule-breaking ruffians.

Dean rushed outside to see the impala as it rapidly reversed toward the blinking Vacancy sign. He ran into the parking lot and waved his arms about, shouting in protest. The car stopped just before it hit the sign post and sat there for a few seconds. Dean began to approach it cautiously, saw Sam sitting in the driver's seat and struggling with someone multicolored who was hunkered in the back seat, and the car revved up again as though it were challenging. The impala left rubber in the asphalt as it sped toward Dean, who had barely enough time to save himself and his pie by diving out of the way. He stood up, watched the impala speed away with Sam inside, and let the pie fall from his hands. Things seemed to slow down as the pie descended to the ground. It splattered all over the pavement and Dean's boots as it landed, but Dean took no notice.

Mourning the pie would come later, he had a runaway car to catch, and a little brother to watch out for.

* * *

"Ha ha ha ha!" The radio crackled in unison with the screeching clowns as the impala drove down the road hitting a single mailbox before speeding up.

"Not again! Oh, God, I'm going to barf," Sam cried miserably as the floral mailbox flew off the hood of the car. One of the clowns threw his arms around Sam, and held him against the seat while the other two told terrible jokes and awkwardly pulled quarters out of his ear from the back. The car drove over someone's lawn; the grass looked freshly cut. Sam's stomach twisted as he imagined the amount of laws they were probably breaking.

"This will all be over as soon as you say '_yes_'!" The radio sang. One of the clowns grabbed Sam's nose, while the other took hold of his ears. "Open up those ears and listen."

"What?" Sam said in a squidward-like voice.

"Just say _yes_!" All three clowns chanted, "_yes! Yes! Yes!_"

"Come on, Sam. Take their advice!" The radio man began to bell out, "_it was the heaaat of the moment! Tellin' me what my heart meant!"_

"Wait, I know who you ar-_aahhh!_" Sam screamed as the car took a sudden sharp turn, narrowly missing an oncoming pickup.

"This looks familiar!" The radio announcer cheered, halting the car to a sudden stop. Sam's body was thrown forward, causing him to painfully bite his tongue. Dazed, Sam lifted his head slowly from where it had hit the steering wheel. When his vision cleared he saw the same intersection from his dream about a hundred feet in front of them. He craned his neck, looking for the ice cream truck that would surely indicate he was dreaming. The traffic light had just turned yellow, and the impala was revving itself up, getting ready to charge.

"Oh, no…" Sam gulped. Scenes from his dream suddenly flashed before his eyes. "Wait! Wait! I name you! Rumpelstiltskin- no, I mean Lucifer!"

"Ding, ding, ding! It only took you two guesses. Seriously, though, what gave it away? The saintly voice? I know, I know, it's impossible to disguise this much majesty all in one person."

The clowns let go of Sam's face and decided to start squirting water at him, honking their noses, chanting "_yes_" in unison.

"No," Sam shook his head vigorously, "Isn't this a little out there for you? All your other attempts were as normal as asking someone to be your vessel can be."

"I got desperate. I mean I tried being understanding, I tried being threatening, I tried being sneaky, I even tried being pitying, but nothing worked!"

"So you kidnapped the Impala?"

"I've done more than just 'kidnap'. I possessed the Impala! Getting it to say yes was easier than expected. Offer a car a simple tune-up and she purrs like a kitten. If you won't be my vessel this car is a good replacement." Lucifer paused for dramatic villainous laughter, leaving Sam a moment to contemplate the ridiculousness of the situation.

Sam, in all his panic, had completely forgotten about his cell phone that had previously been in his pocket and was now laying on the floor. A plan formed in his head while Lucy laughed away. The impala, still speeding down the road, was not as frenzied as before. The unholy laughter filled the impala as Clown 1 and Clown 2 ferociously tickled Sam, who was on the verge of weeping from all the 'torture'.

The shrill voice of the red clown squawked, "I'll tickle yah till yah pee yah pants!"

"Or until you say yes." Continued the other bluish one in a rasp.

"I demand my phone call!" Sam yelled over Clown Red and Clown Blue. The little Hellion on wheels paused in his chuckling. and he took a moment of thought to consider the request.

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" He conceded with a suggested shrug in his crackly radio voice

Sam hastily snatched his cell off the floor of the impala and dialed Dean with trembling fingers, knowing he wouldn't get this chance again. _Ring_. At the sound of the first ring, the clowns disappeared from the backseat, leaving only a rainbow wig and nose behind. _Ring. Ring._ By the third ring, Dean finally answered.

"_Sam_! Can you please tell me what the hell is- "

"The impala's been possessed by Satan!" Sam exclaimed, interrupting Dean. There was silence on the other end for a long moment, and Sam wondered if Dean had hung up on him. Then came an awkward laugh.

"Seriously, man, what happened? Who was that in the car with you?"

"This car's been taken over by Lucifer and there were clowns in the back seat! _Clowns!_" Sam bellowed then, after a few calming deep breaths, he added at a normal volume, "and why am I soaking wet?"

"You're just noticing that now? Are you drunk? Where are you? I'll come pick you up. Just don't drive anywhere."

"Stop asking questions. Listen, I'm not going to be driving anywhere soon if you don't do something. I'm at the corner of Locke and…" Sam's voice wavered when the phone made the unmistakable noise of a dropped call.

"Please insert a yes into the machine if you would like to continue your call. Thank you for using Quick-Callz-Cheap. "

"Forget it!" Sam yelled ready to bash the speakers that spewed that devil's voice heinously.  
Without warning, two or three sirens started blaring behind them.

"Oh, shit"

* * *

**Authors' Note**

That was chapter two, chapter three will be posted in about a week. Did you like it? Hate it? Find any spelling or grammar mistakes? Tell us in the reviews.

And as surprise I would like to wish the other half of this account a Happy birthday. Happy Birthday Zoe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"I'm at the corner of Locke and-" Sam's voice suddenly cut off as the line dropped.

"Hello? Sam, you there? Damn it!" Dean hit redial on his phone, hoping to get Sam on the line again, but it immediately went to his voicemail. "What the hell, Sam!"

From the lobby, Finnegan stared disapprovingly at Dean as he paced the parking lot, racking his brain for his next move. He had no idea how to deal with the situation, so he did the only thing he could do. He called Bobby. In a haste, Dean found Bobby's _other _other cell in his contacts list and pressed send. He waited, tapping his foot on the ground impatiently as he listened to the ringing on the other end.

"What do you need _this _time?" Bobby answered on the fifth ring in a bitter tone.

"How did you know I needed help?" Dean asked, though he was hardly surprised at the old coot's quick wit.

"You never call to just sing _Happy Birthday_," came the sarcastic retort from the other end of the line.

"It's not your birthday." Dean could hear the distinct clanks and chatter of a bar in the background.

"Enough small talk. What are you calling for?"

"The impala came to life with Sam in it and just drove off. Do you know what could do something like that?"

"A real powerful ghost with a vendetta."

"Can't be, it happened at our motel. Besides, we're not even hunting a ghost. I'm telling you the car just straight up came to life!"

"What, like _Christine_?" Bobby said skeptically, then burped loudly.

"Yes, like _Christine_," Dean snapped impatiently.

"This ain't some suspenseful crime drama on TNT, you know. Cars don't just drive off on their own."

"Well this one did, and with my kid brother trapped inside!" Dean yelled then, knowing he would probably have to be nicer to Bobby to recruit his help, he asked with slightly less attitude, "where are you, anyway? Some bar?"

"Just finishing up a werewolf hunt in New Jersey. The bastard-"

"New Jersey! That's pretty close, right? Why don't you swing by Wayfield, Massachusetts?

"I don't know if I can..." Bobby hesitated, the line going quiet.

"I could really use your help here, Bobby, and maybe a ride," Dean pleaded.

"I can be there in an hour," Bobby complied. He had never been able to refuse giving Sam and Dean help when they asked. Those boys were like sons to him. _They're idjits, and'll probably be the death of me someday_, _but they're damn good hunters, _he admitted to himself. "I'll put out a hunter APB on the impala and be right over. Do you know which way they were headin'?"

"It's hard to tell. The car drove like a maniac. It almost ran me over. It went North when it left our motel, The Lazy Lobster."

"Alright. I'll make a few calls. In the meantime, why don't you call up angel-face Cassidy? I bet he'd have more luck in findin' the impala than me." With that said, Bobby hung up the phone.

Finnegan, now engrossed in Dean and his outrageous gestures as he spoke on the phone, leaned forward in his chair, wishing he could hear whatever conversation he was having. The irresponsible manager's issue of Dog Fancy magazine was completely forgotten and flopped carelessly on the floor.

Dean gave his phone a loathing look at having been hung up on yet again, then he called Castiel. Cas, who was definitely not number two on Dean's speed dial, picked up instantly. He didn't say anything, but Dean could tell the phone had been answered when the ringing abruptly stopped.

"Cas...?" Dean said slowly, half expecting it to be someone else.

"Yes?" came the reply in a stoic voice that distinctly belonged to Cas.

"You're supposed to say something when you answer the phone."

"I apologize. This cellular device is difficult to use. I still have not learned all of the customs to making and receiving proper phone calls."

"Yeah, you can work on that later. I need you to help me-" Dean stopped at the sound of wings as Cas suddenly appeared behind him. Through the glass doors, in the brightly-lit motel lobby, a certain motel employee could be seen falling out of his chair, startled by the unforeseen appearance of another man in the parking lot wearing a long, tan trench coat.

In a rage, Dean whipped around to face the angel, and shouted, "Why do you always do that?! You didn't even let me finish talking!"

"I don't understand. Did you not call because you require my help?" Cas stated, confusion clearly evident in his expression.

"Yes! I'm just sayin' you could use some social skills, Cas."

"Dean, I thought promptness would be preferred," Cas unknowingly sent Dean the old 'I don't understand why you are mad at me' puppy face. "Why did you call?"

"Sam. He's been kidnapped by Herbie on a rampage. Please, just find him and zap him back here!" Dean commanded in a panic and wildly pointed in the direction that the impala had sped off in. Cas flickered as if he was in an old film then shook his head.

"The car has been warded against angels. I can't locate it." Cas's expression remained unchanged as he continued to stare fixedly at Dean. He stiffly went to touch Dean's shoulder in an attempt at comforting him, but Dean took a slight step back and was able to dodge Cas's awkward, but thoughtful gesture. "I do know a spell that can help us locate your brother. It works much like a compass but it will take time to gather the ingredients."

"How much time?" Dean gave Cas a hopeful look, imagining that in an hour or two Sam would be safe and working on the Wayfield case.

"I cannot be sure. Most of the materials I need are simple, but it can't be completed until dusk."

"You're useless."

Cas gave Dean puppy face numero 5: 'you hurt my feelings, but I like you too much to say anything'. Dean, oblivious to the look, motioned towards the entrance of the motel lobby.

"Let's head inside then. Bobby should be coming in about an hour to give us a hand."

* * *

**Forty five minutes later**

Dean lay sprawled out on the bed, the laptop in front of him as he tried desperately to find some clues as to what might have caused his baby to act this way. _It wasn't vampires that's for sure. Nor was it werewolves. Ghosts were off the list, leaving only angels, demons, witches, Gabriel messing with us again, or something only Sam could figure out by researching. I wish Sam was here to do this._

Cas randomly appeared at the tiny lobster themed table across the room. He placed an unidentifiable object in his steadily growing pile of ingredients and disappeared to go find something else. These arbitrary disturbances were beginning to irritate Dean, who had already begun regretting the decision to allow Cas to help.

When Cas popped in for the seventh time muttering something in angel speak, Dean roughly snapped the laptop shut and said, "Do you have to pop in and out like-" He trailed off when Cas disappeared without warning, evidently not listening to Dean, who finished his sentence in a fury when Cas appeared again seconds later, "-that!"

"I'm sorry, were you saying something?" Cas tilted his head innocently at Dean.

"Yeah, I was." Dean scoffed. Cas waited expectantly for him to say more, not understanding his sudden gruffness.

"I've almost gathered all of the necessary materials for the spell," The angel informed, realizing after the long and somewhat awkward silence that Dean wasn't going to repeat what he had been saying before.

"You've been popping in and out for forty minutes now," Dean eyed the pile of seemingly random objects on the tiny motel room table, "and is that a rubber duck I see? Why would this spell of yours need a duck?"

"The recipe calls for a sacrificial duck. The person at the Quick-Petz-Cheap refused to sell me a real duck."

"Really? They refused? Or maybe they just didn't have any ducks because it's a _pet store_."

"Humans have many strange and exotic animal companions, why would a duck not be one of them? Is there a reason why some animals can be bought at a store, and others can't?"

"Because no one ever said a duck was man's best friend. Look, Cas, does it really matter why? We need to find Sam and find him fast. If your angel mumbojumbo can't do anything useful then why don't you flutter away to a library and do some research?" Dean went to the miniature fridge in search of beer, saw that there was still only that one bottle of water in it, and slammed the fridge shut, startling Cas. He sat back down on the bed and snatched Sam's laptop, opening it up to his inconclusive google search from earlier.

"Dean, I still need-"

"Well go get it, then! What's stopping you?" Dean snapped, silencing Cas. Before the angel could disappear again, Dean added, "and why don't you get me some beer?"

Cas made a hasty retreat leaving Dean to stew. With that annoyance gone, Dean hoped he could get at least a few minutes of peace and quiet. He expected whatever that last item was to be more difficult than the others to collect. Taking a calming deep breath, Dean lay back against the oak lobster headboard. While carefully balancing the laptop on his knee, he started a new search, but had no idea what he could search for that he hadn't already tried. Just as a thought occurred to him, Cas popped in again, this time right in front of Dean.

"Sorry Dean, but Quick-Liquorz-Cheap refused to sell me any of their products."

"Cas!" Dean exclaimed, surprised by the trenchcoated angel's sudden appearance.

"And I was unable to locate the item I needed," Cas continued solemnly.

"Yeah, well, you made me forget what I was going to look up." Dean stared at the empty search bar, his eye subtly twitching in synchronization with the cursor. Cas quickly changed the subject.

"How much time do we have until Bobby arrives?"

Dean looked at the cartoonish lobster clock hopefully, though Bobby hadn't given him an exact time as to when he would get there. "He said in an hour and, knowing Bobby, he's either speeding or passed out drunk at that bar."

"How long has it been?" Cas asked in his incessantly ever-questioning way, making Dean even more short tempered than usual.

"I don't know!" A car door closing could be heard through the still open window, making them both look up expectantly. "Wait, maybe that's him."

Dean rushed to the window to see Finnegan, who had just gotten out of his car. He was carrying a well-groomed West Highland Terrier in his arms and was partially covering the small dog with a jacket as he creeped towards the back of the motel. The suspicious manager then turned a corner and went out of sight.

"It wasn't Bobby," Cas said.

"Obviously." Dean grumbled under his breath as he shut the window and locked it. Dean sighed heavily and plopped down on the bed. He glanced again at the laptop, the screen shown brightly, and the cursor in the blank google search box continued to blink mockingly.

"Luckily, the item I couldn't find doesn't have to be added to the spell until it's ready to be cast. I can start making it now, and have a friend find it for me in the mean time." Cas wandered over to the pile of materials he'd gathered and started sorting through them.

"What is it, anyway?" Dean asked. The angel had popped out and popped back in with a large cauldron in the middle of Dean's question, but he was too tired at this point to care much.

"It's the talon of a baby #^$&*!%." Cas huffed and let the huge pot clank loudly on the table as he set it down. Dean, feeling the beginnings of a headache, massaged his temples as Cas began to grind up something. The process erupted with a sound that imitated a construction sight.

"A what?" Dean yelled over the noise.

Cas began to explain what the item was, but he spoke at his normal volume even with the racket he was making. Dean could only catch one or two phrases in his long summary, and he didn't even attempt to piece together whatever stray words he did understand in the midst of Cas's strange gobbledeegook of angel talk. Finally, Cas stopped blending the items in the cauldron, just as he finished up his explanation, "...and as you can guess, it's very difficult to find one intact."

Dean grunted in response and closed his eyes, thinking he might as well get in a nap while waiting for Bobby to show up, but that was soon revealed to be impossible thanks to Cas, who had started loudly mixing the ingredients together and yelling things in italian. The noise he made was like a choir of elephants. Dean sighed in exasperation. He didn't know what the hell Cas was doing that would emit such a sound, but he did know that he didn't have to make the damn compass, or whatever it was, inside the motel room.

Over the noise a loud knocking could be heard, Cas stopped his rabid mixing to stare at the door. "I believe Bobby has arrived."

Dean eagerly walked over the door and opened it to find Finnegan with an odd moving lump under his jacket. "There's a trucker in the lobby, says he's a friend of yours. Is he?"

"You bet he is. Beam him up, Scotty." Dean smiled charismatically. The manager's squirming bulge grew a tail that began to wag, causing Finnegan to shift uncomfortably and attempt to adjust his jacket.

"That's _Mr Finnegan_, boyo. Don't be bringing anymore of your friends around here. We've got strict policies. It would do you well to look 'em up." With that Finnegan walked away from the door, and a slightly red-faced Bobby pushed past him roughly and stomped into the motel room.

"What have you boys gotten yourselves into this time? Have you listened to the news recently? A car chase involvin' a black chevy impala is all over the radio."

"What car chase?" Dean asked worriedly. Cas looked up from his cauldron and began to pay attention to the conversation.

"Turn on the news." In a flash the TV was flicked on and switched from some reality show about celebrity dogs to the local news station.

"At around eleven o'clock this morning, an intense police chase commenced right here in the small town of Wayfield, Massachusetts. The driver, one Sam Winchester, rudely ran over Old Woman Josie's floral mailbox and refused to stop when a police officer attempted to pull him over." A reporter stood in front of Old Woman Josie's house pointing to the mailbox that now lay in the street.

"Man, that reporter is cute." Dean commented as he oogled the twenty-something year old blonde with an unnaturally white toothy smile.

"Dean, pay attention." Cas said, not jealous at all. As an angel, it is scientifically proven that Cas is above all forms of jealousy.

"Just in, we are getting reports of several passengers in the impala that appear to be dressed as clowns. They are throwing paint filled balloons at the pursuing police. The police have already tried to shoot out the tires of the impala but so far have only managed to damage the trunk."

"They're shooting at my baby?!"

"Dean! _Shh_!"

"It appears the car has some kind of satanic symbol on the inside of the trunk, which popped open when an officer expertly shot the lock."

"Son of a bitch! They broke the lock!" Dean wailed in a pained voice.

"They are currently speeding down route 6, heading east."

"We'll try to cut them off at the interstate. I got this map from a convenience store called Quick-Storez-Cheap." Bobby pulled a crumpled up road map from his pocket and tossed it to Dean, saying with mock enthusiasm,"You get to be the navigator."

"But I wanna drive-" Dean started to whine, but Bobby stopped him with a fatherly look.

"My car, my rules. Now let's go." Bobby took the lead marching down the hallway with Cas stumbling behind holding his ingredients and cauldron, and finally Dean trailing in the back pouting slightly and grumbling to himself. The not so merry band paraded out of the motel and over to Bobby's rusty beat up old car. Bobby got into the driver's seat and Cas plopped awkwardly into the passenger's side leaving Dean with the back seat as his only option.

* * *

**Authors' note**

We would like to send a shout out to our awesome beta reader, you know who you are. Also thank you to those that reviewed, followed and favorited.

Disclaimer: We ship destiel just as much as the writers of Supernatural. Take that as you will.

Cas's Puppy Faces (Inspired by Lampito's Bitch Faces)

Puppy Face 1: "I am going to intensely stare at you for ten to twenty seconds if you don't do something."

Puppy Face 2: "I do not understand why you are mad at me."

Puppy Face 3: "Dean, your sense of humor troubles me."

Puppy Face 4: "I desire to join in on your conversation, but I have no idea what you are talking about."

Puppy Face 5: "You hurt my feelings, but I like you too much to say anything."


End file.
